Like bombs, they're coming down
by pixiwoo
Summary: Llya Riders a bomber. She dosen't want to be known about. Its not until she gets discovered after a bombing incident when she has to join Mello's Mafia. REVIEW!
1. Like bombs, they're coming down 1

"Hh!!"

Ilya lunged upwards in reflex to her nightmares. Cold sweat beaded on her temple and her hands shook as she weaved them through her thin hair.

"Just a dream. Just a dream, Ly."

She told herself, stumbling towards the bathroom. Ilya Rider didnt bother to switch the lights, she turned the faucet the coldest it could and splashed the cold water on her face.

"Ilya...? 'Whatsa 'mattuh?"

A new voice slurred in light sleep. Ilyas eyes gazed at the silhouettes reflection in the mirror threw her fingers.

"Nuttin, Charlotte."

She mumbled, sleepily. The black-haired female shut off the water and turned to her friend.

"Another one of 'dose dreams?" Ilya nodded to her question, "I knew it!!"

Charlotte walked out of the bathroom and towards the kitchenette with Ilya in toe. The older woman flicked on the lights, much to Ilyas displeasure, and proceeded to start making Hot Coco. Charlotte has known Ilya for so long, she knows Hot Coco is the only way to get her out of a mood.

In much contrast to her friend, Charlotte has curly blonde hair and honey brown eyes framed by long black eyelashes. Tattoos are littered around her skin, usually representing something or another. Charlotte is an average height and extremely muscular, making her already large chest even more prominent.

A steaming cup of sweet Coco found it's place in front of Ilya.

"What was it about this time?"

Charlotte inquired.

"My aunt, haven't dreamt about her in a while. I feel bad because I don't think she really wanted her adopted-daughter to become a bomber."

She laughed dryly, cracking a half smile.

"Heh. I 'dun think mine would be too happy about what Im doin' either but, I'm making a living, right?"

Charlotte consoled the younger woman. "We're big girls now. It 'dun matter if our parents hate us. "

**I love Hot Coco!**

**haha.**

"Your right, Charlie "

The bomber said, distractedly spooning her Hot Coco. The two watched the sun rise quietly until a knock on the door interrupted.

Ilya froze listening, DitDit Dah DitDit DitDitDit DahDitDah DitDah DahDit DahDit DahDahDah DahDit.

You have to love Morse code. It literally translated to "It is Kannon". And judging from Kannons pace, she was calm and therefore alone. Ilya had known Kannon for a while so, she knew she got nervous easily. If the cops had caught Kannon, Ilya would be able to tell threw her pace in the Morse code. Pretty smart, right?

Ilya Rider moseyed to the door, yawning as she undid the multiple locks. What? She just doesnt appreciate being killed in her sleep.

"Ohayou, Kannon-san."

She greeted. The shorter woman stared up at the criminal in awe.

"Sugoi I-I mean, awesome! Kannon is sorry she is not very good with American Engish."

The orange-haired 18-year-old corrected herself.

Kannon was considerably shorter than Rider with short, choppy, oddly colored hair. She wore bright colored lipstick and eye shadow and regularAmerican-styled clothes.

"It's alright, if you want I can speak Japanese to you?"

"No, no, no! That is not necessary for Raida-sama to do."

Kannon insisted, waving her arms frantically.

"Well, then, come in."

The blue-eyed female half-smiled, opening the door to its full width. Kannon bowed her head and walked in, following Ilya into an office-like room.

"You are a representative for Washi Corporation, right?"

Ilya weaved threw her filling cabinet.

"Hai."

"And you scheduled the bombing of Yotsuba Corporation by June 20th 2008?"

"Hai"

"Alright, that means youre payment is due by gah, I hate math. . . uh May 31st 2008."

"Hai, We have brought it too you earlier, in hopes that you will finish the job before June 20th"

Kannon pulled a suitcase into Ilya Riders view.

She smirked, "Alright, Ill take that into consideration"

"Raida-sama, Kannon has been wondering; does Raida fear Kira?"

She stared up at her with those squinty eyes.

"No I'm not afraid of Kira. Kira is simply a sack of chicken-shit playing with justice, nothing more. "

The young woman hit her hand against the filling cabinet.

Kannon stared at her all wide-eyed; who knew the seemingly calm bounty hunter had such a temper?

Charlotte peaked her head threw the doorway.

"What do you think, Kannon-san? Most of the Japanese population is Pro-Kira, what about you? "

The Japanese woman only nodded discretely, in worry. It seemed the young criminal would explode on her either way, but it was safer to take a neutral side

"K-Kannon do not know very much of Kira. Kannon doesnt want to take any sides either!!" She confessed.

"Kannon was only worried for you, b-because you might be next on Kira's list."

Rider seemed to calm down a tad, sighing.

"Alright. You may go back to Washi and tell them I'll get right on they're project."

"Hai."

**I OWN LLYA, KANNON AND CHARLOTTE! **(number 2, coming soon)


	2. Like bombs, they're coming down 2

"So. Its comin' down soon."

Charlotte deducted, rocking back and forth on her heels. Ilya bobbed her head from her desk.

"You okay? You seem quieter after that 'Washi twerps comment."

The blonde stepped threw the wooden doorway. As much as the cellar irritated her asthmatic throat, Ilya continued to work there.

"Hm, I could see why youd say that. She just made me realize exactly how close Kira has come to stopping my black, black little heart."

Ilya spat at the word 'Kira' as she placed a hand over her chest, voice oozing with drama and sarcasm.

"You're getting cocky, huh? So, this is gunna be a big bang."

"Get Ready, it'll make the news for three straight weeks! And the headlines of the news-'freakin-papers! Kira's going to be angry. Because, after all, he gets his information from those two sources."

The very excited bomber explained, grinning. Charlotte shook her head disapprovingly but couldnt smother her own grin from appearing on her tan face.

"Its been awhile since this shit started, and you've kept a steady business, haven't 'cha?"

"I'm smarter than him. He'll never catch me!"

Ilya's ego had supersized over the week; in case you couldn't tell. . .

"Well, Whatcha' makin' it from?"

The muscular Charlotte inquired, looking over Ilyas shoulder on her notes.

"Hmm, I can't decide! I've been stocking up on most everything, really."

She tilted her head, letting her ebony hair fall in her bright eyes.

"I was thinking RDX, for a big bang. Or, Do you think I should try a ton of Nitric Acid for stealthy?"

Ilya Rider inquired, gauging her friends reaction.

"Ilya, I have no idea what in all the hells you just said!"

She laughed, slapping her knee. Ilya chortled as well, smiling. Were criminals supposed to smile?

"Well, RDX is the stuff that countries use in huge wars. A little goes a long way. And Nitric Acid doesnt hurt anything but metal until it gets just a little water in it, then BOOM!"

Ilya waved her hands around, proud to show her vast knowledge. Charlotte smirked.

"Lets go big."

"Tch, I was hoping youd say that. Here are my sketches on how I'm getting it in there"

Rider got a sketchbook out from one of the dusty drawers, coughing all the while. The plan entailed the use of a mock-cell phone, of which its battery would be replaced with to compartments; one RDX and one water. As soon as she pulled the battery out, the dam between the two compartments would be taken away, allowing the chemicals to mix. Itd be remote controlled, so she'd forget it and as soon as it was inconspicuous shed put it in action. And the boom; no more Yotsuba.

"Sounds genius, but what does that mean (CH2)6 N4 + 4HNO3 ? (CH2-N-NO2)3 + 3HCHO + NH4+ + NO3-....?"

Charlotte pointed to the equation near the final draft.

"Well, thats how Im making the RDX, in a scientific, yet literal sense. RDX is made when you combine two chemicals, thats basically all it means, really."

Ilya explained, smiling up at the older woman. Charlotte smiled as well, Kira may be smart, but he could never be as smart as Ilya. Making Bombs is not plain stuff that people can do any day; its like rocket science. You screw up, you're blown up.

And Ilya never screws up.

Ohh, 'ish getting good!! But where's Mello?!

It is May 20th, 2007, 4:31 AM, in Tokyo, Japan. The Yotsuba Corporation was known to have worked with Kira to knock out any competitors, so the competitors strike back. Suddenly, a very unexpected detonation occurs.

Wonder who could've caused that?

"-And, And, and, it just blew up!!"

"Sir, can you tell us exactly what happened."

"W-well, I do believe it was set off on the ground floor, and, and, and the whole building fell on top of its self!! I couldnt believe it-!!"

The overly surprised man was cut off as the news station directed the focus to the anchorwoman.

"There you have it, live at the scene. Arigatou Gozaimasu, Kimiko Haraguchi-san"

She addressed the reporter, who was still seen in the top right corner under the bolded words, The Yotsuba Bombing.

"It is believed that the infamous, American bomber known as Rider executed this catastrophe. However, experts claim that it seems similar to his past works, as its elaborate, but yet Rider has never been seen using these mediums. I'll be turning over to Takumi Nagano-san with the latest in that aspect. Takumi-san "

She explained, her face having the expression of a dead fish. The Golden-haired male watching it couldnt help but snort at that thought.

"Arigatou, now psychologists all agree that in fact, Rider is getting cocky. Rider has now realized the Kira can't catch him or her at this moment. We cannot be sure of what Kira's next move is. But, we are very sure Rider conducted this act, as it follows the usual outlines. Each of Rider's bombings is precise enough that it will destroy the building, but leave maximum amount of survivors. Back to you, Akane-san-. "

Thats all he needed to know, the blonde decided as he flicked off the TV. He would definitely need this Rider to join his Mafia.

. . . Was that Mello? [Rizu: What other blonde mafia leaders are there?] o.o


	3. Like bombs, they're coming down 3

"Ilya, what were you thinking? Ilya, are you even listening?!... Ilya, listen to me!!"

Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. Thats all her aunt said. Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.

"You were such a good kid, Ilya. Smart, too. I thought you were the one who was going to really impact society. What happened to you, Ilya?"

Maybe thats why Ilya calls her self by her last name, 'cause her aunt said her name too much. And she was done with listening to it. So, why cant she stop remembering?

"Why cant you make something of yourself, Ilya?"

Ilya Rider gingerly put her foot in the shower to test the temperature. The cold air gave her goose bumps as it kissed her bare skin.

"Ilya, I can't, heck nobody can help you if you don't tell me or them what's going on."

Her bad memories remained, no matter how shed try and wash them away. She scooted into the steaming shower, placing her forehead on the near wall so that the liquid cascaded down the back of her head and down her face.

"But anyway-, Ilya? Ilya?! Ugh, listen to me!!"

Floral smelling shampoo foaming in her hair, Ilya scraped her fingers against her scalp. It was soon washed out and replaced with equally floral smelling conditioner. The young woman finished her shower quickly and got changed into her denim skinny jeans and a black tank top.

For Ilya Rider, the day after of a bombing was like a bitter hangover. Like an aftereffect of a medicine you needed to survive.

She scuffed down the road, not caring where she went. Just to get lost with herself.

This went on for almost 30 minutes, until the melanoid-haired remembered a fatal factor. School.

Thats right; the 17-year-old was a senior in High school and a top-wanted bomber in her spare time.

When the teenager arrived at school she actually did look like she was having a hangover. With a curly brunette wig jacketing her raven hair, and thick glasses perched on her pale nose; this new Ilya looked nothing like the former.

Well, save the crystalloid eyes and dark circles hanging under them. Ilyas apparel went threw a drastic change as well; she wore a tight ivory blouse and a knee-length navy skirt. A uniform.

"Miss Rider!! Late again for my class, I see!!"

Bellowed her Spanish teacher. Ilya already knew Spanish, through and through, but was forced to take the honors course. She needed two years of Spanish in order to get into college or something on those lines.

"Estoy apesadumbrado, pero la ltima campana no tiene son todava."

And as soon as the females playful sentence rang out, the late bell sounded. Well, in case you are not as familiar with this language as herself, Riders sentence translated roughly as I'm sorry, but the late bell has not rang yet.

And now it has, she just made it in for class. Burn, Mrs. Vasquez, burn.

3:12, Ilya got back to the run down house/apartment. Fixing herself a pop tart, the brunette sat on her sofa to watch the news, and relish in her glory with the feeds.

"Coming Up! Rider has be found, and you might even had known who it was!"

A gasp. Dilated pupils in a canvas of crystal. The thunderous crack of her hand on the table.

"No. This cant be happening."

Her mind reeled, trying to recall all the events in the past week. No one had confronted her on this matter. No one could have proved it. The police who have been all over her before now. Could some one have been spying on Ilya Rider?


	4. Like bombs, they're coming down 4

Commercials seemed to last hours as Ilya tried remember. She tried to remember, but other thoughts kept attacking her conscious similar to that earlier in morning.

A little girl stood in front a gravestone, as the wind blew harshly threw the valley. Her wide, tear-filled eyes focused on the fresh dirt in front of the grave. It was almost covered by flowers of sorts that came from friends and relatives of the deceased, but the dark-haired girl could still touch the earth.

"Mommy, will you hold the door for me?"

Was Ilya finally going to go through that door?

No, no, no, no. Not now, not now, not now.

"Now, the infamous bomber whose alias has been widely spread as Rider has finally been identified. This is the first time the criminals name has been released"

Ilya heart sped up, Kira was watching. Kira. Kira. Kira.

No, no, no, no. Time was running out.

"After suspicious activity, Rider has been identified as a student in New York."

Ilya's heart lurched. Across the country, another criminal felt the same feeling.

'God damn it all.'

"Rider has been identified as . . . -"

Across the world, another criminal readied a pen to write the bomber's name. Oh, the glee it would bring him, to bring the elusive Rider down, to cleanse the world from evil criminals. Even if he has become one.

Adrenaline pumped threw Ilya's veins, but she couldnt do anything about the situation. She bit her lip, and undid her ponytail so that ebony locks traced along her mid-stomach. Her bangs hid her clear, icy eyes.

Was this her last breath?

Silence, save the beating of her heart.

Buh-bump, Buh-bump, Buh-bump, Buh-bump.

Was all he worked for down the drain?

Silence, save the beating of his heart.

Buh-bump, Buh-bump, Buh-bump, Buh-bump.

Was this his win against crime?

Silence, save the beating of his heart.

Buh-bump, Buh-bump, Buh-bump, Buh-bump.

It felt like an eternity, but it was only a second in which the anchorman had taken in a breath. The world waited anxiously.

And everyone around me says, "Your time is running out".

"Adam Beckler. Who is currently 19 years old, and attends an accounting college in New York. However, he has gone threw multiple psychological problems, and has obsessed over the thought of explosives since he was young . . ."

The mans voice drifted away as Ilya's orbs stared into that of the picture of Adam Beckler. Scruffy brown hair, slightly overweight physique, hazel eyes with thin glasses perched on the edge of his round nose.

". . . That was way too close for comfort."

Ilya's mouth was agape, and her head tilted to the side.

However, in Japan, opposite emotions were shared. Kira imaged that poor man's face, as he scribbled down the name, grinning psychotically.

"I have won, Raida!! You put up a great fight for such scum as yourself; but justice always prevails."

With dark turquoise eyes, the last viewer stuffed his chocolate back in his mouth.

"It's time to make our move; now!!"

Hours later, Charlotte got back to the house and seemed normal, as always. But she wasnt so sure about Ilya.

"Hey, girl, you seem really pale, 'ya alright?"

"You won't believe what just happened, Charlotte."

**Preview **

"-Ladies, and Gentlemen, I repeat, our TV station has been held captive by Rider. I repeat, this is no joke. "

Alarms rang in the young womans head as she felt the mans hand being removed and a new cloth being tied tightly around her mouth, around her knees, and around her wrists.

But there was one thing on her one-track mind; did they know her true indentity under the facade?


	5. Like bombs, they're coming down 5

The shock had passed and Ilya's schedule was back to normal, save the time restraint of her new project. A new bombing, which would prove that Kira, the police, and the civilians were all wrong; Raida was still alive.

And tonight, it'd be put in action. Ilya had already set the foundation and was ready to make the wheels turn. And it had taken long enough! She had to pull all-nighters almost every night for two weeks, with a little sleep on the weekend. She even forgot to wear her wig to school, and had to fabricate the excuse that she wanted a change in style.

And now on, at 7:50 pm, the first bomb went off. A small one, but either way would start the gears for the rest of the night.

Oh snapple !

"-Ladies, and Gentlemen, I repeat, our TV station has been held captive by Rider. I repeat, this is no joke. Several TV stations have all been forced into playing this tape sent by Rider. This will be the first time it is played, on 8:03 pm, just as Rider said."

A balding, middle-aged man introduced the creases in his forehead overly apparent.

The screen was filled with a black square, which modeled 5 letters. Rider.

"I am Rider. If you do not believe these statements turn your channel to 35, although for those who live outside of the United States 67. "

The said channel was featuring pictures of another bombing that had happened almost a block away from the first which the cameras which were already covering live.

After a moment the mechanical voice continued.

"A month ago, the world thought they had been ridded of Rider. You are wrong. Kira, you are not the victor of this battle, nor will you be the victor of the war against crime. You have killed an innocent bystander who was but a suspect of being Rider. He is not me."

Ilya quoted herself under her breath, smirking as lights flashed threw her eyes. Charlotte stood beside her, trying to hide her own emotions of pride. They stood in a crowd of other New Yorkers watching a huge screen that was stationed on the local TV stations HQ.

The shorter quickly covered up her expression with that of fear, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. It was a perfect mimic of the rest of the crowd. Police were in the crowd as well, so if they saw her smirking she'd become suspicious.

"Those in New York, if you don't believe me, look at the traffic light next to the NBC television station."

People in the crowd began to panic, staring at the accused traffic light. On cue, its red light blinked and shut off, then the machine burst in a mass of sparks.

Light Yagami whirled around, looking for the said light. It set off before he found it, and all he saw was a burnt hole in the hood of a car and sparks still flying around. He was in fury, how could have Rider survived?!

Oh, Light-kun, you really arn't that bright. Ne?

Fire Department trucks sped past Ilya as she vacated the scene, like many other people. In every major city, a traffic light exploded. Well, not exploded. It was low scale, and was only meant to scare Kira and the police. And everyone else, I guess.

Suddenly Rider found her thoughts being stopped for a second. A hand had clamped down on her mouth, drawing her back. She attempted to bite it, but the man's gloves somehow prevented that.

"Mmph?!"

She let out a noise as another pair of hands grabbed her wrists roughly. A black blindfold was tied over her ears and around her eyes, preventing her from seeing her captors. Despite her attempts at gluing herself to the spot she felt the strain of her body being forced towards the street even as she buckled her knees as a last resort.

'There was just a crowd of people, where are they now?! I-I dont even remember hearing a car in back of me!'

Alarms rang in the young womans head as she felt the man's hand being removed and a new cloth being tied tightly around her mouth. Rope was also tied around her knees, and around her wrists. And then Ilya felt herself being jerked backwards again by a push from the stomach. She groped for something to hold onto, but was unsuccessful until her back hit something firm. She heard the distinguished slam of a car door, and then realized she had been pushed into a car and was lying on a bench of car seats.

"Mello is 'gunna be psyched. He's been pissin' 'bout dis' for awhile."

A gruff voice said. She figured he was somewhere in the front seat.

"Hwah?"

Her voice was muffled against the cotton. Ilya Rider was being kidnapped. She figured that they werent the police, which was more that good . But there was one thing on her one-track mind; did they know?

And now the preview!~

'Where am I?! Who are these people?!"

"We're just like you, Ilya Ryder. We're criminals, just like you."

"But what do you mean, you're next on Kira's list?!"


	6. Like bombs, they're coming down 6

Watery-colored eyes squinted open for the first time since she was knocked out as Ilya regained her consciousness for a moment. She only saw black. _'That's right, they put a blindfold on me . . .'_

Her mind was hazy, and slowly moved her hands to test for the rope. Unfortunately, it had been replaced by handcuffs, which worried Ilya since it was originally a police fixture.

Her ears, however, were intact and easily picked a roaring sound. It reminded her of a plane. Could . . . could she have been put on a _plane_?!

Slowly, wave of exhaustion washed over her and Ilya Ryder found herself being lulled back to sleep by the thunderous noise outside.

Wakey-wakey, Ilya!!

Mumbles and loud laughs greeted Ilya's ears. Drowsily, she rolled over stuffing her face back into the pillow.

. . . Wait- pillow?!

Wide-eyed, she pushed herself up off the sheets. Ilya Ryder scanned the khaki-colored room only to find it pain-staking normal. She eyed the dirty door, which was still opened a crack.

Even through her sudden panic, she felt relief. This wasn't the police. Which meant, her name couldn't be leaked. It was just some low-scale kidnappers, most likely. Why Ilya became their target, she didn't know.

_Creak_, went the step outside the door. Instantly and soundlessly, Ilya lay back in the bed. However, if you looked close enough you could tell her eyes were still were opened in a slit-like way.

The thumps of the footsteps rang threw her like a clocks chimes. Rather discreetly, she crinkled her nose and nudged over sleepily. Was that believable enough?

"'Ey, I know 'yer awake."

'_Dammit_', her mind hissed. Ilya moved her hand ever so slightly to her lower back. Her fingers searched ever so stealthily, but did not caress the handle of a gun, or the belt that held it there.

After a grunt, the man trotted out of the room. Ilya shifted up again, pulling up her shirt over her bellybutton. No belt, no gun. The black-haired miss then felt around her legs. No knives.

Ilya stiffened, now realizing she had no weapons. When and how the kidnappers took them off, she didn't know either. These abductors didn't seem so much like amateurs anymore . . .

"I told 'ya Mello, she's up!"

And their eyes connected. Ilya froze up, being absorbed into her own mind. Indecisive was the best word to describe Ilya at the moment.

'_What . . . What should I do? What can I do? I cant make any moves. Now, of course, it's too late for me to do anything!'_

Ilya bit her lip, unable to look away from the blonde's sharp turquoise optics. On further inspection, he was tall and muscular, although, he didn't look as muscular as the first man. His build was that of a tennis-player, rather than a football-player. However, the look he was giving her somehow told Ilya that he wasn't going to play either. He meant business.

He had golden blonde hair that tucked under his chin, and bangs that hung around those sharp, sharp, sharp eyes. He wore all leather and a rosary around his tanned neck.

"Leave, Miller."

The man grunted respecting the other man's decision, and with the slam of a door, vacated the room.

"Rider. Its a pleasure to meet you. "

He said, eyes never leaving her own. Ilya felt so small under his gaze. So helpless. So vulnerable. So weak.

And Ilya Ryder didn't like that, at all.

"Who are you?!"

She said, biting her tongue from saying anything else. Ilya got off the bed, taking a step forward.

"Mello, my name is Mello."

"Mel . . . oh."

The name rolled off her tongue in an almost pleasurable way. Mello. Now only 5 or so feet away from him, she could see that she was at least a head shorter than him.

"Well, Mello, what are you going to do now? You've found me, are you going to turn me in? Force me to blow something up? Rape me? Somehow revenge your loved ones who might've died in an explosion detonated by me? **Whats your purpose, **_**Mello**_**?!"**

The dark-haired female listed, a hint of frustration behind her words. He stared back at her, bemused and amused by her antics.

"None of the above, Ilya. You're becoming part of my mafia."

He said, smirking. Ilya's eyes flashed in irritation. This blondie sure had some guts to tell _the _Rider that!

Really this time!  
"Oh? Make me."

Ilya stepped closer, chin up defiantly. Mello's smirk was still plastered on his face, despite Ilya's attempts at shaking his concentration.

"What if Kira found out your name, by a certain unnamed source. What then, Ilya Ryder?"

"Kira needs a face and a name to kill. Thats what!"

"You seemed to forgot that your picture is everywhere. Your school, security cameras, and even now I could take your picture."

Miffed, Ilya stepped closer, eyes flitting from the top left corners and the down. Mello's smirk widened.

"You're unsure. And you know I'm right, don't you? . . . But, Rider, you left out one major fact."

At this, he paused to step closer so that Ilya's head was less than a foot away from his chin.

"We're all just like you, Rider, we're all criminals. **Just like you. **The boys down there have some form of kinship towards you, you know."

Ilya frowned tightly, now intently focused on the floor. Kinship? Is that what you would call it? The only person Ilya would consider to have kinship was Charlotte.

"Kinship, in the way that we're all the bad guys in this game, and we're all running from the same force. Kira. Especially me and you."

"Hmm?"

"Rider is the one felon Kira couldn't catch; he got too cocky and tried killing you on national TV, and lost. Even after time, he killed the renowned L. But, hes been after you since you started your business, and has only came close once. As for me, you can do your own research."

Mello explained, his breath rolling against her forehead. And after a moment's delegation, Ilya replied.

"I'm only cooperating with the Mafia to bring down Kira. Thats all."


	7. Like bombs, they're coming down 7

"I already pledged my loyalties, why do you feel like handcuffing me? Does it make you _happy_ or something?"

Ilya huffed as the male worked on his own clamp around his hand. Sadly, Ilya bore a manacle on her left wrist, which leashed her to Mello's right wrist with maybe 3 feet in between.

"No, I just like it."

Aqua eyes rolled, and sarcasm oozed of Mello's tone. And with a shove, she was forced onto a rickety stairwell. And the populace below her didn't even seem to notice.

Mello allowed himself to walk in front of Ilya, occasionally giving the chain a tug when she was being slow. The silent walk down the stairs felt interminable, even though the stairs weren't exactly large. They weren't unlike the fire escape in Ilya's old apartment.

Ilya Ryder crinkled her nose at the smell of Marijuana and alcohol mixing together in her airspace. No, it was not pleasant. And yes, it made the poor female want to blow the place up.

"Well?"

A mostly-bald man questioned. Mello had already gotten comfortable on the zebra-print couch with his feet on the coffee table. Out of the corner of her eye, Ilya could see Mello roll his own cyan eyes at her. Soon she found out why, because my gave the chain a yank and pulled her to the couch.

"Sit,"

He hissed in her pale ear. And somehow, it almost frightened her. And Ilya wasn't easily frightened, No, no, no, not all. Even when Ilya Ryder stared death in the eye all those times, she was never afraid. She had been known to have a panic attack or two, but panicking didn't mean fear had overtaken her.

"Well, Rodd . . . meet Rider."

"And Rider meet Rodd Los, Jack Neylon, Rushuall Bid, Pedro, Jose, and everyone else in the mafia."

Mello vaguely motioned to people seated on the coach as well as a few on computers.

**"Don't care to introduce me, right?"**

A man stepped off a wall. He had shaggy brunette hair, and matching coffee orbs. He had been smoking, but smashed the tip of nicotine enlightenment into the dirtied wall before sauntering towards Ilya and the rest of the group.

"I did say 'everyone else in the mafia', didn't I?"

"Jakob."

He said simply, taking the woman's hand in his own. And as she took in his appearance, her clear eyes couldn't help but narrow in recognition.

"Rider."

She said, just as simply. She slipped her pale flesh from his own, fully noticing Mello's grasp on his now-cracked chocolate.

"So, I'm finally meeting the infamous bomber who not only puts the world in fear, but has escaped Kira himself? And it seems this isn't our first meeting."

So grammatically correct, it had to be _that Jakob_. Frozen eyes didn't widen or squint, but her mouth widened into a smirk.

"I never imagined Rider to be so . . . innocent-looking. I expected a man."

"Innocence is subject to interpretation, isn't it? I would think so."

Some men stayed attentive to the conversation, but others went back to their own business. Mello made it his business to osculate every syllable uttered by either person.

"Such fate, that we were separated a year ago. But, now we're reunited, Il-"  
And his caramel eyes rolled back into his head and fell on his knees, and then his back, but his hands groped the air for a moment until he fell lifeless.

No, Kira had not written his name in that forsaken notebook.

Wisps of smoke still floated from the gun in gloved hands, and blood seeped from Jacob's jugular vein. A death by shot in the throat. And the dealer of Jacob's demise?

A certain blonde who called himself Mello. What did he say about kinship?

There goes Mello shooting people again.

Rod Los had stopped playing with his slut woman, to look over at the young man with confusion. All heads had turned to Ilya, Mello, and the corpse of Jacob.

"He almost said Rider's real name. I was worried about that when he recognized her . . . we can't have any of our member's names leaked to Kira. And you know Rider's at the top of his list."

Mello's demeanor remained perfectly calm, as he licked his chocolate and held his gun in place.

"Got it?"

Those sharp, sharp, sharp eyes turned even steelier. Ilya was unsure; did he do that to prove her trust, or did he actually care? She would put her money on the former.

"One problem, Mello! He was one of our best gunmen, what now?"

A man spoke up, sitting on the couch.

"Can she even shoot a gun?"

Embarrassment made her cheeks flush rose, Ilya didn't know much about shooting any gun. She carried a gun almost everywhere, but never shot it. But, she figured, if push came to shove she could fire it.

"No, I blow shit up, but shoot it."

She aimed her statement to be icy, but still hinted to a bashful undertone.

"She'll have to learn anyway! Mello, you're good with your gun, teach'her!"

A pause, but then Mello decided.

"Fine, let's go."

He pulled her off the couch and up the stairs again, disgruntled at the thought of _teaching_ her. And, Ilya didn't even seem to know that he was holding her hand, not the metal chain.

**But this is the Mafia, there couldn't be any romance for Ilya Ryder here, ****right****?**


	8. Like bombs, they're coming down 8

Pale hands shook against the metallic handle of a gun. Her digits pressed against the trigger, slowly but then with an added firm. She shifted her feet into a stance and tried to hold herself and the weapon steady. Finally the trigger clicked back and a lead bullet shot from the tip.

The throwback shocked Ilya, shoving her back into a wall, gun wrenching itself from her hands, sending the bullet into a wall, rather than the setup target.

Mello sighed; this was going to be difficult. The idiotic woman was a genius when it came to the creativity of her explosives, but couldn't manage to even shoot a target, let alone a person.

"Alright, Rider, now load the gun back up."

He urged, stepping into the crude room. With safety in his mind, he retreated into the hall while she fired the weapon in case the ricocheting lead should find him.

The room was stained and dirty, but had khaki paint like Ilya's room. One of the walls held a huge glass window that almost took up the whole wall until the door. Fortunately, the glass was also bullet proof. Mello has spray painted a huge red and white target on one wall for her practice.

"O-okay."

Biting her lip, Ilya carefully did as instructed. She handled the piece of metal with utmost care, less it spontaneous shot or something.

"I'll try again!"  
She had finished the task and held the gun out with two hands. Ilya Ryder prepared herself for the throwback, and this time didn't fall. But she jerked a little, and missed the target by about 3 feet or so.

She sighed, scratching the back of her neck. She stared at the wall; well, at least Ilya did a little better . . .

"Mello? What does the Mafia do with this room?"

She had been dying to ask, after all what kind of building had a room like this? And it certainly didn't look untouched by the group.

"Mm? Well, mostly interrogation or torture methods."

He sat in what looked like an elementary school chair, with his chest resting against the back. The coal-haired female suddenly took notice of a red tinted stain in one corner. And it wasn't Mello's spray paint.

Ilya didn't know how many times she tried and failed to shoot the gun, but to give you an idea; her and the male took a break to get lunch about midway.

Rider held up the cumbersome weapon once more. But this time, she was stopped by the familiar blonde's voice.

"Here, hand me the gun."

She tossed it to him, wordlessly. He aimed it for the center red dot in the target, squinting one of his eyes.

"I'm going to demonstrate once more, alright?"

And with a single second, Mello's index finger flattened the trigger back. He didn't quiver at the thrust of the gun's mechanisms that would've knocked Ilya backwards. And his aims stayed true, the single red vortex bore a dark hole.

"Now you try."

Mello shoved the hardware back into her grasp. She meticulously followed his steps, and as soon as she felt ready, she pressured that little piece of metal. A little piece of metal, that when pushed, could take away a life.

The sound lingered in the air, and despite Ilya's exertion, she only hit the edge of the target. And when push comes to shove, the female wouldn't be able to survive on that aim.

Oh, sweeties, get ready for the yummy.  
"Okay, first thing's first."

Mello's breath whispered on her ears, sending a sudden wave of panic threw her body. And even against all her might, she could feel an inkling of heat rise to her face.

"Relax, don't get all worked up about shooting a gun. Next, straighten your back, it's a lot harder when you slouch."

Mello distantly thought of his idol, who never could hold a straight spine for more than a minute. He pressed his ungloved hands against Ilya's mid back, gesturing to his point.

"Alright, now hold your arms tight. Try not to shake."

He took Ilya's hands around the gun and held them out far beyond her petite figure. The shadowy haired female did as told, locking her joints in place.

"Hold your feet like this."

His left foot nudged hers into the appropriate stance, where it jutted foreword towards the target. Next, he weaved his leg threw hers pushing it back, almost behind her.

"And then all you have to do is pull the trigger."  
His warm fingers pressured hers onto the perfectly fitted piece of metal, which generated a loud sound but she held fast. Even so, she was slightly pushed back onto his chest. And somehow, Ilya didn't want her lessons to end.

And the leaden bullet hit dead center. Ilya's eyes sparkled with a form of pride as she loaded the gun once again, and without Mello's help, almost hit the hub of the target. However, the said male remained close to make sure she didn't mess up.

Hours later, in the dead of night, Ilya could found stumbling down the stairs with a determined expression. Some men were splayed on the zebra-printed couch, but obviously wouldn't be awakened by the bomber's light footsteps and tapping on the computer's keyboard.

Curiosity had overtaken Ilya in the night. She **needed** to know.

"M-e-l-l-o or M-e-l-l-o-w?"

She murmured to the electronic. The screen blared white light and the colorful word 'Google'; she trusted her gut and typed in the former spelling into the search engine.

Multiple links popped up on her request, some of which advertised a paradise in Italy, a prayer website made by a man named Anthony de Mello, and an African-American rap artist. None of which would be applicable to the Mello Ilya had spent the day with.

If Mello was one of the leaders of the Mafia, how could he be so underground? It seemed as though Ilya would have to bring in special sources.

_'If I was a mafia leader, where would I first be mentioned? . . . A newspaper! Or maybe a news report?'_ Ilya's fingers sped across the keyboard, easily hacking into a substantial news database. There, she reiterated her source.

And more results called back, similar to those of before. Ilya was about to add the keyword 'mafia' into the search bar, but was quickly stopped. A link caught her light eyes; an obituary for a man named Quilish Whammy a.k.a. Watari.

The link was quickly clicked and Ilya scanned over the words, and smirked. This had to be him. She printed it out (but made sure Mello didn't know that) and trotted up to her room again.

"Quilish Whammy, founder of orphanage for geniuses . . . Whammy's House. Mello and Near successors to become the . . .new L."

Ilya read it over and over, whispering things within her four walls. Her eyes were wide, almost glassy, and her head a tilt.

"It, It couldn't be, could it . . . ?"


	9. Like bombs, they're coming down 9

Restless nights were never Ilya's favorite. Switching positions once again, Ilya Ryder plunged her dark-haired head into the pillow. She usually caused restless nights by over thinking something.

And that she was.

'Mello . . . I've met you before, haven't I?' She couldn't shake the feeling of recognition, but she wasn't sure, as it was very long ago.

A very petite child stood next to the iron, spiraling gates of the orphanage. An older man, wearing a black trench coat, pushed her forward gently.

"This is your new home for now, Miss Ilya."

He unlocked the gate as lightning flashed, silhouetting the gate and fencing of the home. A home for orphaned geniuses.

Shutting the ornate front doors, he led her up the equally ornate stairs to a hallway. Just as he was unlocking an oak door, a little boy came behind them.

"She can sleep in our quarters"

He rubbed his wide blue eyes, and brushed his mope of blonde hair

from his face, the elderly man Ilya had come to know as Quilish Whammy smiled.

"You shouldn't be up at this time, but yes, our new occupant can sleep with you, Matt, and Near for the night. Please make Ilya feel welcome."

And with that, he pushed the bruised youth forward. She stumbled a little, and blushed at her own clumsiness.

"I-I-I'm Ilya Ryder. It's n-nice to meet you!"

"Uhm, I don't think you're 'sposed to tell me your name . . . ?"

He looked up at his senior, silently questioning him. The man smiled down at the two again.

"That's right; here you have to have an alias. This is only a precaution because everyone housed at 'Whammy's House for Orphaned Geniuses' is in the running to become the new L!"

"Eh-eh-L?"

The dark-haired female questioned, eyes growing wide. The blonde male grinned and nodded energetically.

"Uh-hunh! The L!"

"W-who's he?"

The little boy's jaw dropped, but was quickly brought to its proper place. He shook his head, letting his almost girlish waves of blonde brush his nose.

"You're 'gunna have a lot to learn, Rider!!"

And with that very true statement, he took her hand and ran down the hall to his room.

OHMIGAWD, ILYA, YOU DID MEET MELLO!

Pipe down, baka-onna above me!

Ilya Ryder's memories were vague, but she did remember her first encounter at Whammy's. Everything was a blur, but she did remember that she didn't spend much time there. In less than a month, her aunt took her from the foster home.

The criminal winced at a memory prior to her arrival at Whammy's. Back when she lived with her father. That was even more of a blur than her short stay at the orphanage, but was so painful she couldn't help but recall . . .

The slurred calls of her father. The bash of Whiskey bottle against the walls. The thump of Ilya tripping on her way upstairs. It was all too vivid for a memory which should be forgotten.

"You look too much like your mother!!"

The bash of the remains of the Whiskey bottle on the pale canvas called Ilya's skin resounded. Her cry and the drips of tears on the wooden floor came soon after.

"Why don't you get cancer and drop dead too?!"

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Her father's words stung even more than her wounds.

"Katherine was the only woman I've ever loved!! Why did you let he be t-taken away, god dammit!!"

"I-I-I-I'll try harder next time, Daddy!! I really w-will!"

Tears choking her throat, Ilya was picked up by the collar of her nightshirt and thrown against the wall. She was only 7, how could she be responsible for her mother's demise? She wasn't, but with his drunken conscious her father needed something to blame.

"There is no next time, Ilya!! Your mother is already dead! My Katherine is dead, idiot!!"

He repeatedly shook her back into the wall. Young Ilya began to notice everything becoming fuzzy, kind of like a dream you are desperate to remember. She desperately clawed at his large hands, which held her throat tightly.

And then everything became too fuzzy. Fuzzy fuzzy, like Ilya's now slightly bloody teddy bear . . .

Fuzzy, fuzzy, fuzzy . . .

Oh dear, poor Ilya . . .

Waking up with a start, sweat beaded on the woman's forehead. She sat up right, chest heaving up and down.

"Just a dream, Ly . . . just a dream." Oh but it wasn't.

Dj vu, but this time Charlotte wasn't there with Hot Coco. No one was there. Ilya was on her own once again, wasn't she?

Yes, she was.

Closing sparkling eyes to prevent tears, she laid her head on the wall. But the same fuzzy, yet lucid, images lurked behind her eyelids.

Ilya bitted her lip, letting her trembling pale hands massage her temples. All her memories were giving her a panic attack.

But if she chose to ignore her memories, they would still find her . . . burn her.

"Hey you alright?"

A familiar voice was tuned out. Maybe she wasn't alone tonight, maybe she wasn't on her own.


End file.
